Monthly Archives: January 2016

Of course, she wasn’t the first to make the King Arthur joke. He’d get it every so often from someone who thought they were so original with the round table joke.

But it was never something he thought about much with her. She just called him King as easily as if it was his given name. It was so natural and easy with her. There was so much that he just instinctively understood about her. He thought, for sure, that this would be the relationship to last him for the rest of his life.

But, to be perfectly honest, he hadn’t though it would be because this relationship would actually lead to his death.

The funeral was rough. No one had wanted to see Arthur go. No one had wanted to see him not come back. Everyone knew he was a good guy, and deserved the best in the world. He didn’t deserve to die.

The strangest part was Maggie. I knew the girl wasn’t normal. We all knew that she would handle grief in a unique way. But she loved the man. So, we knew there would be some sort of grief. We prepared for as many eventualities as we could come up with.

We didn’t expect a complete non-reaction.

The memorial was taking place in her living room so she wouldn’t have to leave the house, and it’s like we weren’t even there. Maggie came in and out of the room, looking for books or refilling her whiskey, but otherwise didn’t really interact with anyone or anything—just going about a normal day, like her boyfriend was often killed in battle and her friends were often celebrating his life while sitting on her couches.

Geneva says I should just leave it be. And I guess I will, because Geneva definitely knows more about this and about Maggie then I ever will. But—it’s just so odd to me. I guess I should just resign myself to never understanding.

I didn’t tell Jason wat we had decided. I didn’t tell him that even though we had trained Arthur to have his very best chance, we all knew he wouldn’t make it out of this alive. It wasn’t a slim chance that he was coming back—this was no chance that he was coming back. And we all knew that completely when we decided to ask Arthur to do it.

Jason wouldn’t be able to handle that. He couldn’t send a man to his definite death. Even though it was t only way to save the rest of the world, Jason wouldn’t be able to just sit with it. He would insist we find another way, as if we hadn’t spent the last several months trying to come up with literally any solution at all. Jason would insist we find another way, even if it meant we all sat here and died while we looked for it.

So, no, I didn’t tell Jason what we had decided. It’s the biggest secret I’ve ever kept from my husband. And no—I don’t feel good about it. But I don’t feel good about the fact that I sent Arthur to his death either. However, I am not as soft hearted as my husband. I can do what needs to be done, regardless of how I feel. So I will continue to lie. With relative ease.

They were exhausted. It’d be a long day of travel, and it wasn’t like it was an easy road they were following. Harlowe had fallen four times earlier in the day, and she was the one with rough road experience. Conlyn was pretty sure that he was more bruise than anything else at this point.

None of them actually made it up the stairs to their bedrooms. Harlowe collapsed into an armchair, curling up into a ball, hiding her head under both of her arms. Hana fell onto the couch, and might have been asleep before she was even properly horizontal. Conlyn looked between the occupied chair, the occupied couch, and the staircase. He didn’t even have the proper energy to make a decision, or process the situation well enough to understand there was a decision to be made.

After a moment, he just crumbled into a ball where he stood, curled up on himself and slept in the middle of the living room. He could worry about everything else, anything else, in the morning.

Ryan and I had a pretty good childhood, all things considered. I mean, don’t get me wrong—our family was strange and we were always poor—but we didn’t really know any better. We never felt like we were lacking for anything. Besides, we were always trusted by our parents—so who needed fancy toys when we were allowed to be out after the street lights came on and we were always allowed to be in possession of our own allowances. Freddy used to tell us he hated us as the streetlights started to flick on and he had to sprint home—but he was just jealous. He came back to play with every day, so how much could he have really hated us?So, I guess to answer your original question, no I don’t think our parents did us a disservice. We’re different, yeah. But isn’t difference the spice of life? Just because you disagree with how our parents did things, that doesn’t make them bad people. And I don’t appreciate you making them out to be.

They were at an impasse. They’d each said their parts a thousand different times–and with alarming regularity they both said “Look, I get where you are coming from, but…”

The truth was, neither of them really understood the other anymore. They had at the beginning. They meshed well, and it wasn’t a lie that they loved each other. But, love wasn’t always enough. In fact, sometimes, all love did was cause more harm. It made them want to stick together. It made them want to fight for an answer when there wasn’t one to find They wanted to stick together, to continue to love each other, when all they were doing at this point driving the wedge deeper and deeper between them.

They would keep saying they understand. They would keep reassuring themselves that they were on the right side, that all the choices they were making was only in the couple’s best interest. They would tell themselves that they just had to make it past this hurdle, and then everything could go back to normal. Then everything could be like it was before.

“Alfie, don’t,” She laughed, playfully swatting at him, and smiling at their reflections in the mirror over the dresser. “If you start that then I’ll stop getting ready—and if I stop getting ready then we will never get to your sister’s rehearsal dinner.”

“Well, if I remember correctly, my sister didn’t come to our rehearsal dinner because she was feeling up one of the waiters in a closet somewhere,” Alfie grinned, dipping his head to the crease between her neck and shoulder, kissing her gently. “I say she’s lucky if we show up at all.”

“Alfred Hanes, you are the older brother, and thirty one years old. You cannot use your then twenty one year old sister’s actions as a life plan.”

“Aw, but I wanted to.” Alife groaned, setting his chin down on his wife’s bare shoulder.

“You just don’t want to talk to your Uncle Andrew.” Their eyes met in the mirror, and Alfie knew better than to try to deny it.

“Can’t it be that I don’t want to talk to Uncle Andrew and I really want to have sex with my lovely wife?”

She rolled her eyes at that. “Of course it is. But we still need to go to your sister’s rehearsal.” She patted him lovingly on the head. “Go get your tie. If you behave—I’ll get sick an hour early, and you can rush me home like the loving husband you are.”

Alfie smiled in the mirror and perked up a little. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”